Chapter Twenty
They couldn’t keep her here.
Maeve held her internal organs in with the press of her hand as she shuffled toward the end of the bed.
Callen had stepped out into the hallway to call the division head of the law enforcement rangers, but all she’d heard through the door was that the remains were on their way to the medical examiner’s office. So that was where she was going.
Just as soon as she figured out how to breathe and walk at the same time again. It didn’t use to be so hard, did it? The paper-thin gown gaped in the back, and a frigid slip of air skimmed down her spine. No problem. She wasn’t walking out of here with her ass hanging out anyway.
Something twisted in her stomach when she took her next breath.
Setting one hand on the end of the hospital bed, she tried not to die.
And to mentally untwist whatever didn’t like her upright.
This was stupid. She knew that, and yet she’d made dumber decisions throughout her life, and she was still here.
She’d trained as a federal agent, for crying out loud.
Walking ten feet to the pile of neatly folded clothing—probably by Helen’s hands—shouldn’t be such a task.
Maeve struggled for her next breath, counting the seconds she had until Callen walked back in the room.
“You managed not to shoot yourself in a refrigerated storage container. You can do this.”
It took more effort than she expected to get her feet moving and to hold her weight on her own two legs, but she managed to make it to the chair.
Helen wouldn’t have left a clean stack of clothes for her if she hadn’t expected her to use them, right?
Or maybe Callen’s mother really just knew her that well.
Maeve swallowed the ball of emotion lodged in her throat as she shifted the stack of what looked like jeans, a T-shirt and undergarments into one hand and took a seat.
She didn’t blame Helen for breaking her promise not to reveal the details of Maeve’s hospital stay after she’d been stabbed.
It hadn’t been Maeve’s place to demand that from the mom who’d stepped into her life in the first place, and she’d known keeping something like that—her rock bottom—wouldn’t stay between them forever.
She just hadn’t wanted Callen to think any worse of her, that she would stoop so low as to drag him back into her life by putting herself at risk.
Because he would’ve been there had he known.
He would’ve set aside his hatred for her in an instant and blamed himself, and she didn’t want that.
She’d told him the truth earlier. Those seconds in which her hand had flinched to unholster her weapon as the suspect came at her and her choice not to follow-through had nothing to do with him.
She could’ve easily drawn her sidearm. She’d chosen not to.
Not only because of that sick sense of failure that had nipped at her heels since Lauren disappeared, but from the knowledge that she’d truly believed she deserved the punishment at the time.
Looking back, she could pinpoint the signs of the deterioration of her mental health, and Helen and Tommy forcing her into therapy—forcing their support—had worked wonders since, but she hadn’t seen it then. All she’d been was empty.
That wasn’t the case anymore.
She’d lost Lauren—okay, she’d lost more than that—but she felt as though she was finally able to take her first real breath in months.
Closing her eyes, she leaned into the warmth Callen’s apology had created until it filled the cold place in the center of her chest she spent so much wasted time trying not to think about.
It had heated with his hand on her skin, his thumb tracing the line of her bottom lip.
In that moment, there’d been nothing—no investigation, no history, no hurt—but the feel of his skin against hers.
But that chilled emptiness was beginning to return.
With every second she didn’t tell him the truth.
Maeve made slow work of dragging her jeans up her legs, careful not to bend too much and piss off the sutures in her stomach. She was out of breath by the time she managed to secure the button and needed a minute before attempting to wrangle her bra.
A minute she didn’t get.
The hospital room door opened, and Callen froze as his gaze landed on the bed. Her empty bed. It didn’t take him long to register her sitting in the chair across the room. “Get back in that bed.”
“Too late.” She sucked in another breath as she clutched the bra Helen had either found or bought.
It took her longer than it should have for her to recognize it as one of hers.
In fact, all the clothes were hers, but she hadn’t brought them from Vegas.
Maybe items she’d left behind in Callen’s apartment?
A load of laundry she’d forgotten? Kind of made her wonder why her ex hadn’t burned them or mailed them.
Or maybe he’d planned to and Helen stopped him.
That woman was always thinking ahead and seemed to sense more than she was willing to admit. “I’m already dressed.”
The door closed behind him automatically as he crossed the room to meet her. Tearing her bra from her hand, he towered over her with his phone in the other. “Are you out of your mind? You’re four days postsurgery from a gunshot wound. You’re lucky you haven’t torn anything.”
“To be honest, I’m not so sure I haven’t.” Being out of breath wasn’t helping anything. This conversation would go over so much easier if she could stand. “But if I have to spend another minute in that bed knowing your ranger friends recovered a second set of remains, I might stab someone.”
Because that second set might belong to Iliana Meyer.
Could tell them who had locked Maeve in that storage container, put a bullet in her stomach and tried to drown Callen.
Could tell them who had killed Lauren and left her bones to erode beneath Kolob Arch.
He knew that, and he had to know there was nothing that could stop her from seeing this through to the end. Even with a GSW in her gut.
He tightened his fist around her bra, and Maeve couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs together at the sight of all that muscle in his forearm flexing around black lace, which only hurt more.
Nothing in their earlier conversation had hinted at Callen’s thoughts on how they moved on after the investigation—together or apart—but it was easy to imagine picking up where they’d left off.
Had he thought about it? Was that something he wanted?
He’d forgiven her—words she’d ached to hear since the moment she moved out of their shared apartment—but did that mean more to her than it meant to him?
“You’re not going to let this go, are you? ”
“Bingo.” Reaching for her bra, she moved to pull one arm through the gown’s sleeve but ran out of energy.
Maeve set her head back against the wall.
She was going to make it all the way to Hurricane and the medical examiner’s office.
She just didn’t know how yet. “Could you please help me? I’m stuck. ”
“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?
” Callen didn’t give her a chance to answer as he tucked his phone in his back pocket and grabbed the hem of her gown.
He made quick work of the ill-fitting fabric, exposing her upper body in one fell swoop.
“Holy hell, Maeve. How did you get to the chair?”
“It’s not that bad.” She couldn’t fight the urge to look down, her skin puckering against the chill coming through the air-conditioning vents.
There wasn’t a self-conscious bone in her body.
She took care of herself for the most part, and there wasn’t a lick of skin Callen hadn’t seen or worshipped while they were together.
But she could admit this was different. A piece of gauze and medical tape covered the surgical opening, but rounded bruises—black, green, some purple and blue—haloed the surrounding tissue.
She sucked in a shallow breath, not daring to move a single muscle.
“Okay. It is that bad, but I’m still not getting back in that bed. Help me up.”
They worked as a team, going slower than she wanted to go, getting her into her bra, then her shirt.
Callen knelt in front of her as he tied the laces on her boots, her hands on his shoulders for balance.
He was warm and strong and devoted to the point of putting his life on the line, and she couldn’t help but revel in a little bit of that now.
While she still had him here. “Any sign of the shooter?”
“Hard to find a man who likes to dress up in ski masks.” He switched to her opposite foot.
“Springdale PD has the bullet you were shot with. They’re running ballistics to see if there’s a match in the federal database, but it’s going to take some time.
You had the right idea cutting the line by going to the medical examiner’s office for those prints. ”
“A lot of good it did us. We still have no idea who broke into your storage container and took one of your Tasers to place at the scene.” Or a motive that told them why.
Why Lauren? Why Iliana? Why try to kill Callen?
Three people in her personal and professional life, all tied through violence.
It didn’t make sense. If this had something to do with one of her past cases, why not target her directly?
Why go through the people she cared about?
When would it stop? Maeve swallowed, not liking that line of thinking at all or the fact that Helen and Tommy Russell might be pulled in front of the next bullet.
Callen’s hand slid up the back of her thigh as he finished tightening her laces, his body heat penetrating through her jeans. It was almost enough to make her believe they could work things out when this case was done. Almost. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Together. Her eyes burned again. Damn painkillers.
Rising, Callen threaded his arm behind her lower back and dragged her into his side. “Put your weight on me. I can handle it.”
The meaning of that sentence went unsaid.
I can handle you. But she couldn’t feed into that hope right now.
No matter how much she wanted to. The shooter was still out there.
Iliana was still out there, and Maeve needed to find her.
Before Callen learned the truth. She settled into his side as they shuffled toward the door in some kind of weird three-legged race.
“You couldn’t take it that one time we almost fell down the stairs. ”
“That was different. You jumped out from behind the bedroom door and tackled me.” His hand tightened around her back as he tugged open the door. “I wasn’t prepared to be attacked after three days on the road, let alone in my own apartment.”
Her smile came naturally at recalling the look of utter surprise on his face.
Right before they hit the ground in a fit of laughter and kisses and touching that turned wildly inappropriate.
It’d been one of the core memories of their relationship, mere days after he’d asked her to marry him.
The happiest she’d ever been. Maeve slid her hand over his chest. For balance and nothing more.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Because moments like that didn’t last. They were always overtaken by the bad.
“A security operative should always be prepared for an attack.”
“Can’t argue with you there.” He gazed down at her as they navigated their way to the elevator, and the hospital—the PA systems, the rush of nurses and wheelchairs, and too-bright lighting—faded away.
There was only him. The only man she’d ever wanted.
And couldn’t keep. Callen lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering, and a shiver chased across her shoulders.
“I still plan to make you pay for that little stunt.”